In sharp contrast to the custom in England and France, when a man was outlived by his wife in the crusader states, his minor heirs, whether male or female, did not become the ward of the feudal overlord. Instead, a man’s widow acted as guardian and regent for minor heirs and all other children of the marriage. This meant that if a man died leaving a minor heir, his widow retained control of the entire estate until that heir came of age (if male) or married (if female), and only after that event, lived from her dower. Again, the exception was in the case of the crown. If a king left a minor heir, it was the responsibility of the High Court to appoint a regent. However, even the major baronies could be held by a widow as regent for the minor heir. This happened twice in the case of the Principality of Galilee; first, when Ermengard, the widow of Elinard of Bures held it from his death in 1153 until her eldest son Walter came of age in 1159, and again when Eschiva of Tiberias ruled the principality following Walter’s death until 1174. Likewise, Stephanie de Milly, heiress of Transjordan, held Toron as guardian of her son Humphrey.

Judicial Status Before the Courts

As opposed to Islamic law, the laws of the Kingdom of Jerusalem recognised women as legal persons equal in status to males, albeit with some restrictions. On the one hand, women defendants were on an equal footing with male defendants. Likewise, in property disputes, issues of inheritance and cases we would treat as civil rather than criminal, women were treated equally with men, and their word was weighted equally with that of male witnesses.

However, in criminal cases in which the punishment could include mutilation or execution, the laws of the crusader states still recognised the right of the defendant to request trial by combat. This impacted the status of women before the law because, despite possible exceptions, women were generally disadvantaged when fighting men. Hence, women were exempted from personally engaging in judicial combat. Instead, they had to bring forth a champion. That did not exempt the woman from capital punishment in the event her champion was defeated. On the contrary, if her champion lost, the female litigant was deemed guilty by the judgement of God and hung.

Notably, members of the clergy and men over 60 enjoyed the same exemption from combat and the requirement to bring forth a champion capable of fighting to initiate a court case that might be referred to judicial combat for judgement. Since witnesses in criminal cases were not allowed to use champions, women – along with priests and men over 60 – were likewise debarred from bearing witness in cases that might be referred to the judgement of God, i.e., trial by combat. It is important to stress that these legal impediments to women were not misogynous because they applied equally to anyone deemed innately disadvantaged in physical combat, e.g., male clergy and males over 60.

In effect, a woman could only initiate proceedings that could go to judicial combat (e.g., rape, assault, highway robbery) if she had two witnesses willing to fight to the death on her behalf. This was because all those initiating proceedings required two people to testify to the truth of their accusation. A male litigant only had to find one companion willing to support his accusations because he offered his own body in judicial combat (unless too old, disabled or in holy orders). A woman had to find two men willing to back her allegations with their lives.

In the case of rape or other acts of violence against women, unmarried women and widows could initiate court proceedings on their own. Married women, however, needed their husband’s consent, presumably because he was expected to serve as her champion; failure to do so (without good reason) would prejudice the case against her. Usually, in the case of a married woman, her husband initiated the proceedings on her behalf and served as her champion. However, the law did allow a wife to choose a different champion because husbands might be old, injured or otherwise disabled. In fact, however, very few cases went to judicial combat; most were settled out of court.

It is worth quoting Peter Edbury’s conclusion to his essay on the legal status of women based on his study of John d’Ibelin’s treatise, Le Livre des Assises, one of the most definitive primary sources on the laws of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Edbury writes:

‘John’s treatise contains a wealth of information about the status and activities of women in the High Court of Jerusalem, but that what he says gives rise to further questions that cannot easily be resolved. While it is clear that women had certain disabilities at law … it is also clear that they had well-defined rights and that the legal system was able to guarantee them’.52

Edbury also notes that, like William of Tyre, Ibelin’s work is devoid of ‘pejorative remarks’ about women. As one of the leading noblemen and jurists of his society, that too tells us a great deal about how women were perceived in the crusader states.

Hostages and Captives

Finally, in a kingdom surrounded by enemies and frequently at war, the status of women caught up in warfare is particularly important. In the crusader kingdoms of the Levant (though not in Cyprus or Frankish Greece), women were frequently caught up in warfare as will be explored in more detail in the chapter ‘In Defence of the Holy Land: The Women of Outremer in Time of War’. In this chapter, only two legal aspects of women’s status in warfare will be highlighted: their ability to serve as hostages and their right to ransom.

The most famous case of a female being pledged as a hostage for the good behaviour of a male released from captivity is Baldwin II’s surrender of his daughter Iveta to secure his release in 1124. At the time, Iveta was just 4 or 5 years old. One can well imagine Muslim dismay and reluctance to accept a female hostage, but Baldwin had no male heirs or close male relatives in the Near East. He only had four daughters. Notably, Iveta was accompanied by other hostages, mostly male and female children.

Interestingly, the ransom negotiations were conducted by Baldwin’s wife, Iveta’s mother, Queen Morphia, and primary sources agree that Baldwin moved as rapidly as possible to raise the enormous ransom required to liberate his daughter. Altogether, she is believed to have spent no more than eighteen months in Saracen hands. In short, she and the other children fulfilled the role assigned them (passively, of course) of ensuring that the king of Jerusalem complied with the terms of the ransom agreement.

In the incident cited earlier, in which two noblewomen served as hostages to ensure William de Villehardouin’s compliance with the terms of his release from captivity in Constantinople, it is possible that, again, there were no suitable male hostages. William himself only had two daughters, both already married and living outside Greece. Obviously, the bulk of the Frankish lords had been killed or captured, which was why women dominated the High Court in the first place. Nevertheless, the fact remains that women were viewed as sufficient security for a man’s compliance with the terms of an agreement.

Yet while hostages were (out of self-interest) generally well-treated, the fate of those taken captive was almost invariably hellish. In the Eastern Mediterranean, in the era of the crusades, there were all too many ways in which a man or woman could find themselves enslaved. The pilgrim routes were notorious for being plagued by robbers, and in an age characterised by widespread slavery, humans were viewed as ‘plunder’ no less than gold or silver. Pirates made sea travel dangerous. The porous nature of mediaeval borders meant that hostile raiders – whether Bedouins or Saracen troops – could conduct raids into the crusader states and take away captives. In the wake of major invasions, villages, towns and even walled cities might be captured and the inhabitants taken away as slaves.

In fact, so many people were taken captive in the Near East during the era of the crusades that several religious orders were dedicated primarily to raising money from charity to buy back those who had been carried off into slavery. For the high born, however, it was more common for captives to be ransomed by their families. Here, again, the crusader states demonstrated a concern and respect for women above and beyond that of other contemporary kingdoms. Thus, while the Law of Provence, for example, decreed that a son lost his fief if he failed to ransom his father, and a father lost his fief if he failed to ransom a son who stood hostage for him, in Outremer, a son had the obligation to ransom both his father and mother, and a man was obliged to ransom both his sons and his daughters, or otherwise lose his fief.

Chapter 8

The Political Power of Women in the Crusader States

Women in the crusader states exercised significant political power. They did so first and foremost due to their legal status as feudal lords. This power was direct in the case of heiresses who held land and titles in their own right or delegated in the case of consorts acting on behalf of absent or incapacitated husbands or mothers acting on behalf of minor heirs. In addition, women also enjoyed a high degree of indirect power in their capacity as consorts or dowagers of living and politically active feudal lords. Yet not all influence was derived from feudal law. Women in Outremer also acted as intermediaries with the enemy, sometimes positively as envoys and sometimes negatively as spies. Finally, in the crusader era, women still enjoyed a notable degree of independence, respect and influence as churchwomen. These different types of power are examined below by providing prominent examples from the historical record.

Direct Power: Feudal Lords

Queen Melisende

Arguably no woman had more influence on the image and status of women in the crusader states than the first reigning queen of Jerusalem, Melisende. While her father opened the door for her by designating her as his heir, a different woman might have squandered this opportunity to exercise power or failed to set a precedent of female competence in a traditionally male role. Melisende neither neglected nor misused her rare opportunity.

As we have seen from the narrative description of Melisende’s reign, her authority was almost immediately challenged by her older and politically more experienced husband, Fulk d’Anjou. At her father’s death, Fulk stopped including her in his charters, ignored her advice and opinions and generally disregarded her status as co-monarch; i.e., he attempted to rule on his own. It is unclear if Melisende and the High Court would have tolerated this situation indefinitely if Fulk had not, in the third year of their joint reign, also sought to discredit his wife by accusing her of an affair with her cousin, Hugh of Jaffa, one of the most powerful of the local barons. The king’s motives are unknown, although historians speculate that Fulk favoured Angevin lords over the local barons and possibly sought to install a son from his first marriage as his heir, thereby disinheriting his son by Melisende, Baldwin III.

Whatever his intentions, the attack on Melisende’s honour, or the threat to her son, provoked a vigorous response. Rather than becoming a victim of her husband’s intrigue and disappearing from history, Melisende rallied baronial and clerical support. Even when her chief supporter, the Count of Jaffa, made the tactical blunder of forming an alliance with the Saracens, Melisende’s position was not weakened. The High Court found Jaffa guilty of treason yet sentenced him only to three years of exile, possibly in recognition of the extenuating circumstances that had driven him into that alliance – i.e., the king’s actions. Hugh’s assassination before he could leave the kingdom provoked even greater outrage from local elites who assumed the king was behind the murder.

Fulk had hopelessly overplayed his hand. The contemporary chroniclers, most notably William of Tyre, report that henceforth, Fulk recognised he must scrupulously respect Melisende’s rights as hereditary queen – or risk losing his crown. Yet we know nothing about how Melisende brought about this change of attitude or how she managed to rally nearly unanimous support among her powerful subjects in her confrontation with her spouse.

Equally intriguing, Melisende did not seek revenge or humiliation for her consort after her victory. Having re-established her position as co-monarch, Melisende showed herself as gracious. Not only were Fulk and Melisende reconciled enough to have a second son, but they became an extremely effective team who divided the responsibilities of ruling between them. Erin Jordan, writing in the Royal Studies Journal, notes that:

‘Gender norms that divided the various duties associated with ruling, reserving military action for men, were not detrimental to female participation in government. The frequent and extended absences of the king from the royal court in Jerusalem which resulted from his preoccupation with military activity could easily have strained the administration of domestic affairs … [Instead] the constant presence of the queen at court curbed any such disruption in the routine governing’.53

Presumably, Melisende’s competence in dealing with the kingdom’s internal affairs won her the enduring respect of her subjects, or at least the more sober and responsible of them. Indeed, her reputation spread all the way to France, where none other than the renowned abbot, St Bernard of Clairvaux – by far the most influential cleric of the age – received favourable reports about Melisende’s wisdom and judgement from the Knights Templar. It is worth pausing to reflect on that: The Knights Templar, a militant monastic order that forbade all contact between its members and females, reported favourably to the founder of the Cistercian Order about a woman’s rule. This prompted St Bernard to address himself to Melisende directly, saying he had learned that:

‘You are behaving peacefully and kindly; that you are ruling yourself and the kingdom wisely with the advice of wise men; that you love the Brothers of the Temple and are on friendly terms with them; and that, according to the wisdom given you by God, you are providently and wisely meeting the dangers which threaten the Holy Land with sound counsels and help’.54

St Bernard, although a reformer, is generally viewed as a conservative. Yet here he demonstratively indicated no discomfort with a woman exercising supreme executive secular power over the kingdom with responsibility for, as he stressed, the protection of the most sacred sites in all of Christendom.

Another influential cleric, William Archbishop of Tyre, was equally laudatory of Melisende’s rule. Tyre was later chancellor of the kingdom and is the principal source for Melisende’s clashes with her husband Fulk and her eldest son Baldwin III. In both instances, Tyre sides with Melisende against her male co-monarchs. This is particularly important in the case of Baldwin III, whom Tyre otherwise depicts as an exemplary king. Indeed, Tyre casts Baldwin’s conflict with his mother almost as an immature youth briefly led astray by bad company. He writes:

‘Melisende, the king’s mother, was a woman of great wisdom who had much experience in all kinds of secular matters. … As long as her son was willing to be ruled by her wise counsel, the people enjoyed a highly desirable state of tranquillity, and the affairs of the realm prospered. But the more frivolous elements in the kingdom soon found the queen’s wise influence hindered their attempts to draw the king into their own pursuits’.55

Such an interpretation of events, despite the grave risks to the kingdom brought about by Baldwin briefly tearing the kingdom in two and laying siege to his mother in the Tower of David, is possible because, again, there was no permanent breach between the co-monarchs. Instead, Melisende managed a rapprochement even after her humiliating defeat. Far from disappearing into a convent or obscurity, Melisende remained active in the Kingdom of Jerusalem long after her son had violently asserted his right to a more dominant role. As had been the case with Fulk, the more engaged Baldwin III became in military affairs, the more Melisende exerted her leading role in internal policy. This included important negotiations with the Pisans concerning their rights in Tyre, issuing charters, settling disputes, dispensing patronage, conducting marriage negotiations (notably with the Byzantine Emperor), and, most strikingly, dispatching royal troops to attack a Muslim-controlled fortress on the Jordon River. All this was done by Melisende after her short but forceful clash with Baldwin III. Furthermore, these are not nominal acts; they represent the very essence of royal power.

In short, after her victory over Fulk and her defeat at the hands of her son, Melisende understood how to re-establish amicable relations with her co-monarch to such a degree that she remained in possession of real political power. Furthermore, she exercised that authority so effectively that she retained the loyalty of her subjects and the respect of contemporary, clerical commentators. At her death, William of Tyre reflected on her reign as follows:

‘Queen Melisende, a woman of unusual wisdom and discretion, fell ill of an incurable disease for which there was no help except death. … For thirty years and more, during the lifetime of her husband as well as afterwards in the reign of her son, Melisende had governed the kingdom with strength surpassing that of most women. Her rule had been wise and judicious’.56

Queen Sibylla

No such praise can be found for the next ruling queen, Sibylla. Yet while Sibylla was anything but wise or judicious, she undoubtedly – if inconsistently – exercised the full powers of her office. After being widowed very young in 1177, she chose her next husband without the consent of the High Court and clung to him despite dramatic efforts by her brother, King Baldwin IV, and the High Court to pressure her into a divorce. More spectacularly still, she cajoled a minority of the bishops and barons into crowning her without the consent of the full High Court. In other words, she usurped the throne. Significantly, this minority faction was only prepared to back Sibylla’s usurpation if she set aside her unpopular husband, Guy de Lusignan. Sibylla agreed to comply, setting one condition of her own: that she choose her next husband. No sooner was she crowned, however, than she declared that her next husband was the same as her last husband, namely Guy de Lusignan. When the patriarch of Jerusalem, until this point, one of her staunch supporters, balked at crowning Guy, Sibylla, in a dramatic demonstration of regal power, crowned Guy herself.

There was no precedent in Jerusalem for monarchs crowning monarchs. In fact, it was not recognised anywhere in the world at this time as a legitimate procedure. In short, Guy’s coronation not only followed a usurpation, it was itself fraudulent. Yet, curiously, once it was done, it was widely accepted. To be sure, a majority of the High Court sought to counter Sibylla’s coup by crowning Sibylla’s younger sister Isabella as the legitimate monarch. However, as described earlier, the High Court lost heart and accepted Sibylla’s fait accompli when Isabella’s weak husband rushed to do homage to Sibylla and Guy. Only two barons (Tripoli and Ramla) refused homage because they did not recognise Sibylla’s legitimacy. In other words, Sibylla got away with snatching a crown for herself in violation of the laws and customs of the kingdom and with imposing her candidate for king upon her subjects as well – despite near universal opposition to him as an individual. Those are not the actions of a chattel or pawn; they demonstrate just how powerful Queen Sibylla of Jerusalem was.

Isabella d’Ibelin, Lady of Beirut

The power of heiresses was not confined to the ruling queens. Baronial heiresses in the crusader kingdoms also demonstrated their independence and power, as the case of Isabella of Beirut demonstrates. Isabella d’Ibelin succeeded to the barony of Beirut in 1264 on the death of her father, John II d’Ibelin of Beirut. She was 12 years old.

Before focusing on her exercise of power, it is useful to remember the context in which she lived. When she came into her inheritance, the titular king of Jerusalem was the 12-year-old grandson of Frederick II, a youth who, like his father, had never set foot in the kingdom. The Mongols, on the other hand, had captured Baghdad, Aleppo and Damascus, before being defeated by the Mamluks at the battle of Ain Jalut in 1260. The following year, in 1261, the Latins lost control of Constantinople. Before Isabella had held her fief a full year, the Mamluks had taken Caesarea, Haifa and Arsuf, cutting the Kingdom of Jerusalem in half. Two years after she succeeded to her fief, the Mamluks had overrun Galilee and expelled the Templars from the fortress of Safed. In short, Isabella came of age in an environment in which the enemies of the crusader states were gathering at the gates.

Isabella was betrothed to King Hugh II of Cyprus shortly after coming into her estate. Although he was a prince roughly her own age, he was dead two years later. Rather than becoming queen consort of Cyprus, Isabella remained the ‘lady’ – that is, the feudal lord of Beirut.

On 9 May 1269, at 16 years, Isabella made the dramatic decision to conclude a separate truce with the Mamluk Sultan Baybars. She may have been reviving or continuing the policy of her father, John of Beirut II, who had also dabbled with separate truces in 1263. However, in Isabella’s case, the truce was for an entire decade. Meanwhile, the last of the Hohenstaufen kings had been executed by Charles d’Anjou, and there were two rival claimants to the crown of Jerusalem. Neither seemed interested in Beirut, so Isabella continued to rule unimpeded and, surprisingly, unmarried.

It was not until 1272, when Isabella was already 20, that she married a second time. Her husband was not imposed on her by her feudal overlord, the king. Instead, she married an English Marcher Lord known only in the records of Outremer as Haymo Letrange (i.e., the stranger). Within a year, he was dead, leaving Isabella a widow again with neither an heir nor a husband to fulfil the military obligations of her fief.

Yet it was not until 1277, when Isabella was 25, that Hugh III of Cyprus appears to have remembered her. He tardily decided to enforce his rights as her feudal overlord by demanding her marriage in accordance with the customs of the kingdom. He forced her to accompany him to Cyprus, but Isabella was not cowed. She demanded a judgement of the High Court, and, significantly, this was granted her. She defended herself with the extraordinary argument that the terms of her truce with Sultan Baybars made him, rather than Hugh, her feudal overlord. In a dramatic decision about which we know far too little, the High Court sided with Isabella. The High Court of Cyprus officially recognised a Mamluk sultan rather than a Christian king as the overlord of Beirut, thereby denying Hugh the right to insist upon Isabella’s marriage.

Thereafter, Isabella enjoyed an escort of Mamluks to protect her from further interference from Hugh III. She returned to Beirut and promptly married the titular lord of Caesarea. Unfortunately for her, he was a hothead engaged in a feud with the Ibelins. After assassinating one of the many John d’Ibelins living at this time, he was murdered in revenge by the brother of the man he had killed. The latter happened to be the Constable of Cyprus, which (rightly or not) put him at an advantage before the law. His vengeance-killing was neither condemned nor punished.

Meanwhile, Isabella was once again a widow. She married one last time to William Barlais and died childless of unknown causes in 1282. She was succeeded as Lady of Beirut by her sister Eschiva d’Ibelin.

Although the historical record focuses unsurprisingly on Isabella’s dramatic and successful plea before the High Court that resulted in recognition of a Muslim sultan rather than a Christian king as her overlord, the untold story behind that dramatic event is that of a woman who ruled her barony independently for the greater part of the eighteen years she held the fief. In those years, she did more than fend off unwanted marriages and conclude a separate truce with the archenemy. She also conducted all the barony’s routine domestic business, from granting charters and extending patronage to sitting in judgement in the baronial court, commanding the garrison and overseeing the baronial exchequer.

Delegated Power: Consorts and Regents